I get Caila’s need to protect her sister. It’s almost as fierce as Jet’s need to protect his—which I find totally adorable by the way.
“Why are you smiling?”
“I’m not smiling.” My fingers touch over my lips reflexively. “Besides, Caila is harmless.”
“No, she’s not.” Scarlett shakes her head wildly as if she knows something I’m not privy to.
“She totally is.” My life in these past few, aggressively hateful weeks flashes before my eyes, and a part of me concurs with Scarlett’s line of thinking. “Okay, so maybe she’s a little bit of a free thinker.”
“More like an entrepreneurial thinker, and I don’t mean that in any good way. She’s the kind of girl who will do whatever it takes to get the job done. She’s determined to get Cassidy through school while supporting herselfandher daughter. There’s a bit of dangerous desperation there. That’s not you. You don’t have to do anything to survive.”
“My credit card debt begs to differ.”
“Then get creative.” She slams her palm down on the table. “This whole sushi thing sounds fishy to me—pun intended. Come on, Daisy. Push yourself in the other direction. If Caila can dance herself out of a hole, you can think yourself out of one.”
“Are you saying she’s less than we are because she doesn’t happen to hold a student ID in her possession?”
“No, I’m saying she’s different than we are. Everything you see happening in her lifeisher life. She’s realized her dreams. She’s not determined to be the best damn female defense attorney North Carolina has ever seen.”
I wince. “Totally not the kind of law I want to go into. I was thinking more entertainment or family law.”
“I would have pegged you for something to do with Cyberspace law. Something to do withbullyingsince you’re living out everyone’s worst nightmare.” She leans in, and her hardened stance begins to soften. There’s something special about a moment when your best friend is willing to reach into your chest and rattle your heart around just to talk some sense into you. “Daisy, I amsickof watching the world bully you. I know you feel the same.”
We finish up and end our coffee klatch the same way it began with a nice firm hug.
The crisp fall air envelops me as I scoot off to get ready for my big moment as Geisha Grill’s sushi girl extraordinaire.
Scarlett is right. I need to think my way out of this hole before I end up at the pinnacle of my nonexistent career covered in fish guts with nothing but a fig leaf to hide my shame.
Iheadstraight to Stilettos where Caila herself covers every last inch of my body with an entire palate of cosmetics. It turns out the fig leaf was indeed provided by Mother Nature. The hand-shaped blade is unbearably scratchy, although counterintuitive to incite an orgasm in me, and for that I’m forever grateful. I arrived at the Jepson Inn at six o’clock. It took nearly an hour for the Geisha Grill team—all men mind you, to find the perfect spot in the center of the convention hall to lay me prone and decorate my body with a myriad of sushi. That was the easy part. I’m to lie still for the duration of forty-five minutes to an hour when they’ll wheel me away on this gurney-like contraption as not to upset the illusion. What illusion that might be I haven’t a clue. Are there sushi girls in nature that I’m to emulate? Are the patrons of this fine establishment meant to believe that girls like me exist in some tropical oriental forest where both fig leaves and rolls of raw fish abound? I think not. More like no one wants to see my boobs flapping as two-hour old tuna trails down my legs while I scamper the hell out of Dodge.
“No speaking to guests. Look straight at the ceiling no matter what. Okay, you’re on.” The man who’s spent the last forty minutes piling me with sushi adjusts my pasties. Words and actions that I never thought would cross my mind.
“Hey, what’s this convention for anyway?” I’m sort of its main attraction. I may as well know the nature of the beast.
“Actors and producers. Some Hollywood bigwigs who specialize in reality television are showing up. You know, all the junk that’s on TV these days.” He leaves without so much as a thumbs-up.
Reality TV? I live for that junk. God, what if I get discovered? This is going to be totally exciting—other than the fact it’s going to be totally horrific watching people gawk at me while trying to decide between the crunchy salmon or the California roll.
A mob of humanity presses in all at once, and while a small handful meander toward the traditional buffet, the majority head my way tooohandahhand load up on some serious sushi. It’s a dark cloud of business suits for the most part, decent looking men and a sprinkling of women all look on with morbid delight at the sight of my quasi-naked body.
It’s an entire slew ofno shit, she’s real! Look at the size of those tits! I’d like to see what she’s hiding under that fig leaf. Hey, sweetie, what’s your name? You busy after this?
To my surprise, I’m feeling a bit Zen about the whole thing. Staring at the ceiling, zoning out while about thirty different men discover their new favorite meal—me, isn’t at all as perverse as I thought it would be.
“I don’t know,” a deep male voice rumbles from behind. “My sister’s not into it. She thinks I should stay away.”
Something about the way he cares for his sister reminds me of Jet. I’ll admit, it gets me every time when Jet bears his big brother prowess. I’m a sucker for a guy who knows how to take care of a girl. Jet sure knows how to take care of a girl, and I don’t mean in a sisterly way.
The murmurs of their conversation ebb and flow from earshot, but as soon as their voices grow closer, my stomach clenches. I know that deep throated, sexy as all hell, graveled male bass. The familiar scent of his cologne reaches me before he does.
“You like sushi?” his female companion asks with a giggle. “My God, would you look at this? I think she’s real!” The chortling continues as she makes her way into my line of vision, but it’s not her or her perky bombshell bosom I’m interested in gawking at. I’m just waiting for that voice to make himself known, to prove me wrong.
Jet cannot be here. Why in the hell wouldhebe here?
A dark head of hair comes around and flanks her on the side—his eyes meet up with mine.
Jet Madden and I meet again.
